Drawing Lessons

Overcome by it

"Ugh..." Bucky groaned slowly, a wide, sleepy smile spreading through his whole face as he leaned back and stretched. Steve couldn't rip his eyes away from Bucky as the athletic boy's shirt rode up and revealed his stomach, the waistband of his dark briefs peeking up from his pants.

"What?" Bucky asked, blushing, slightly self-conscious as he came to the sudden realization that Steve was staring at him.

"Nothing." Steve replied sweetly, smiling as he turned his attention back to his drawing.

Bucky glanced over at the clock. It was just after seven in the evening.

"Oh, wow, I didn't realize it was so late. I've probably long since missed my family's dinner." Bucky commented mildly.

"Wanna eat with me?" Steve offered immediately, not even having to think. It was Bucky, after all.

"Sure," Bucky responded, "When's your mom getting home?"

"Oh, she's working the night shift tonight. She's already had dinner and won't be home until morning." Steve responded, still drawing and not really paying too much attention to the conversation at hand. His foot was resting on top of Bucky's, but neither had made any sort of comment about it.

"Well, then when were you planning to eat?" Bucky asked his friend.

"I don't know," Steve replied absentmindedly as he gently erased a mark on the paper, "Probably around six-ish?"

"Steve," Bucky put his hand on Steve's pencil so he'd have to look up, "It's seven right now."

"Oh," Steve responded simply, not quite seeming to comprehend what had just been said in the slightest, "Oh, damn, I'd better get dinner started!" Steve exclaimed and jumped up toward the kitchen.

Bucky sighed heavily, but not unhappily.

"Language!" He called out exasperatedly as he rose, tired, from the chair he'd been seated in. He was so exhausted by the week he'd just had in school and winter conditioning, but he was also glad to be over at Steve's house hanging out with him. Honestly, there was no place he'd rather be at any given moment than with Steve.

Yes, he knew what that really meant for him. Truly, he might have known the whole time, somewhere in the back of his mind.

Yes, he supposed he did love Steve. Maybe even from the very first moment they met. After all, it was Steve, his Steve, the thin, dirty-blonde boy who had opened Bucky's world to light and laughter, introduced him to the prospect of being bold to the point of danger, expanded his horizons for who he was allowed to be. Maybe... maybe it was like he could actually be himself around Steve. Be open.

But he wasn't ever going to be able to do anything about his clear feelings. He'd probably die with them still locked away in his quiet heart. Steve was too good, too bold, too wild, too fucking perfect for Bucky to ever really touch. He didn't want to ruin everything they already had. Bucky didn't have a single friend as close as Steve, and he suspected that Steve didn't really have any other friends period, not that he was really one to judge. There was just too much between them right the way it was. It was too good for Bucky to risk breaking it. He loved Steve, and so he could never tell him so.

"Get in here, Buck!" Steve called out, a casual sort of panic in his voice, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts.

Bucky rushed into the kitchen to find that somehow Steve had set the stove on fire.

"Oh my God, Stevie!" Bucky cried in surprise, almost immediately rushing into action to turn the stove off.

"I know!" Steve seemed just as flabbergasted as Bucky.